The
life-source from whence flourished the originality and cultural diversity
for which

Europe is still renowned

TFP Viewpoint, London, Vol 14 No 4, September 2007 (*)

As
the mouthpiece of an association with “Family” in its name [Tradition,
Family, Property], it is
fitting that we weigh in for the ongoing debate on the nature of the
family. Whether it be opposition leader David Cameron’s proposed tax
break for married couples and the subsequent discussion about the parity
of de facto relationships and same-sex civil partnerships to marriage,
or the right to adoption by homosexual couples, or even the impact
divorce and single-parenting have upon children, etc., there is much
confusion over the issue. So much, in fact, that it is impossible to
adequately address the principal concerns in a single article: hence the
following is the first of a series. In subsequent articles we will show
how the family is the fertile soil where each child can develop his
personality to its full potential, and the benefits thereby to all of
society; the role tradition and heredity play in fostering a healthy
family; also, some of the misconceptions and abuses involving this
institution.

TFP
Viewpoint
is published by the Tradition, Family, Property Bureau for the
U.K.

editor @ tfpuk.org.uk

Note:
This article is adapted from a speech given by Prof. Plinio Corrêa de
Oliveira in São Paulo, Brazil, on 1 July 1966. At the time, a bill that
would legalise divorce had been introduced into the Brazilian
legislature. The Brazilian TFP organised a nationwide petition drive
against that bill, which was defeated, thus staving off the legalisation
of divorce for nearly a decade.

The
central argument of the proponents of alternate forms of “families” is
that these “new varieties” bring as much (if not more) mutual happiness to
partners and children as that which naturally exists between spouses and
their offspring. The defenders of traditional marriage and family answer
in kind, limiting the scope of the debate to the family considered in its
primary elements: father, mother, offspring, parental influence over their
children, the union of soul between husband and wife, and the cohesion
among siblings. Pedagogical concerns are also raised, particularly
regarding the importance of the values that parents convey to their
children. Hence—in a slightly Cartesian way—the discussion concentrates
on matters related to the formation and education of offspring, thus
ignoring the fact that the family—far from being a mere convention—is
actually a natural institution, and as such exercises influences that
extend far beyond its primary elements.

The
family is commonly referred to as the basic unit of society, inferring
that each family constitutes a stone or brick which, when joined together,
in turn constitutes a building which is society. In fact, the family is
the mother cell of society, and as such is the latter’s life source.
Consequently, the health and vitality of the family is a matter of public
well-being. This premise considerably broadens the scope of the debate.

Our
thesis is that there is only one kind of living society and its life
source is the traditional family. In other words, as far as forms of
society go, there are only two options: either we cultivate an organic and
living society, or we become an androgynous and dying society.

Going
from theory to practice, consider the role of the family during the Dark
Ages (between the VI and IX Centuries).

At its
apogee of earthly splendor and glory, when the Roman Empire was renowned
for its administrative and judicial institutions, the cities of the Roman
Empire were linked by roads that are an engineering feat, some of which
still survive. These roads served a military purpose, allowing troops to
quickly deploy anywhere in the Empire to defend it against invasion and
insurrection. These roads also facilitated travel, a rather more common
occurrence than we might suppose, even though transportation was either by
foot, horse, or oxen-cart. The latter was the luxury mode of transport of
the time: a convoy of up to ten carts provided all sorts of amenities for
their travelers, even snow with which to make ice cream.

This
situation drastically changed when the barbarian hordes overran the
Empire. Centralised authority disappeared and marauding bands put an end
to carefree travel. Bridges collapsed through neglect and the roads fell
into disrepair and were overgrown by vegetation. Cities emptied and towns
became islands unto themselves. As a matter of survival, these isolated
towns became self-sufficient, since all outside commerce was cut-off. In
these conditions, each small community developed a unique character that
it imprinted on its own architecture, its own dress, its own customs, and
even its own language, with dialects appearing. By the XI–XII centuries,
Europe resembled a mosaic of tiny cultures that were small worlds unto
themselves, each bursting with life.

Many of
these regional variations yet survive. Indeed, the principal attraction
Europe exercises over tourists is the variety of regional dress,
architecture, dance, music, and cuisine that are faint remnants of the
varieties that proliferated in medieval times. Each region and each town
produced its own civilisation that was distinct from the next, even if it
were just a few leagues down the road.

It is
not hard to see that this proliferation of tiny cultures was a grassroots
movement: these were small communities where individuals and families had
more say and where public authority was limited. It was a time when the
individual, family, and custom communicated life to and influenced the
ambience more than the local authority.

This
situation suffered a profound transformation, beginning in the XII
century, when feudal warfare ceased and Europe experienced relative
peace. The knights-errant had cleared the thoroughfares of bandits and
commerce had resumed. Consequently, towns banded into regions, cities
began to grow, a capital appeared in all kingdoms, and around the king a
court and a nation were formed: everything tended toward centralisation.

This
centralising trend continued gathering force well into the XVII and XVIII
centuries, with monarchs like Philip II of Spain, Peter the Great and
Catherine of Russia, and others who wielded greater power than their
ancestors. This concentration of authority upset the flow of influence
from the grassroots upwards. This shift of influences is most noticeable
in the court of Louis XIV.

He is
known as the Sun King: the paradigm of a king, surrounded by a nobility
that was the perfect model of courteous aristocracy and who were imitated
by aristocracies all over Europe. In that century, the French grandes
dames were already the prototype of elegance, charm, and feminine beauty.
The king had notable statesmen in his service. Even the Church played a
role in France’s prominence at the time, with Bossuet, followed shortly
thereafter by Massion, both considered as accomplished orators throughout
Europe.

All of
France—indeed all of Europe, in varying degrees—took its lead from the
court of Louis XIV.

No
longer did the little towns set the cultural tone. Regional differences
were sacrificed as everyone strove to imitate life in the capital, where a
new social class appeared that takes the reigns of society: technocrats
and specialists. The transformation was now complete: no longer was
society fashioned by the exuberance of life flowing from rural families.
Instead, society had become inert, allowing itself to be moulded by the
centralised public authority.

Contrary to conventional wisdom, this centralisation did not cease with
the French Revolution. The Comité de Salut Public (Committee of Public
Safety) exercised greater centralised authority than Louis XVI, which in
turn was surpassed by Napoleon. Many historians and jurists agree that
the current French head of state has much greater means with which to lead
the social body than Louis XIV had at the height of his glory.

With
the transition from monarchy to democracy, the people are now
(theoretically) king. The centralisation trend has also evolved, though,
and we now have what some sociologists have identified as a “doxocracy”
(literally, governed by opinion, n.t.): for each concern arising
within society, a commission—predominantly composed of specialists—is
established to draft a solution, which in turn is presented to the general
public via the means of social communication (mass media). Thus informed
by the mass media, the people are free to elect the politicians who will
implement the social programs of their preference.

In a
modern democracy, the methods of centralisation have changed, but the
determinant influence over society still emanates from the artificial life
of the capital and the large cities. Style, fashion, behaviour, every
social trend and cultural expression is manufactured—or at least
launched—from within the city, and from there it filters down to all of
society. Similarly, regionalism and local variety find little
appreciation within the rest of society, hence they have no real chance to
grow and are gradually disappearing.

The
consequence of this situation is the impoverishment of modern man. People
are poor not just in the material sense: many (perhaps most) wealthy
individuals are also impoverished in a more spiritual, intangible way. We
have gradually become so accustomed to reacting only to external stimuli
(all means of social communication, primarily the television, the printed
media, cinema, and the internet) that we are becoming incapable of any
internal stimuli.

Eloquent proof of our incapacity to resist the pressures of mass media can
be found in the escalating anti-smoking campaign. Even though we are
amply aware of the inherent health risks of frequent smoking, we still
require that all cigarette advertisements include additional warnings.
Furthermore, the movie and television industries are now frequently
criticised whenever smoking is portrayed in a glamorous fashion: there
even have been demands for smoking scenes to be censored from classic
movies and cartoons.

An
anti-obesity campaign is now brooding over us. The premise of both health
campaigns is that a considerable and growing number of citizens are
incapable of resisting both the obvious and subtle solicitations to which
we are submitted—or to which we submit ourselves—compelling the public
authority to intervene, under the pretext of averting a health crisis.

This
deplorable state we are in is precisely what Pius XII described when he
contrasted the masses with the people:

The
people, and a shapeless multitude (or, as it is called, “the masses”) are
two distinct concepts.

1. The
people lives and moves by its own life energy; the masses are inert of
themselves and can only be moved from outside.

2. The
people lives by the fullness of life in the men that compose it, each of
whom—at his proper place and in his own way—is a person conscious of his
own responsibility and of his own views. The masses, on the contrary,
wait for the impulse from outside, an easy plaything in the hands of
anyone who exploits their instincts and impressions; ready to follow in
turn, today this way, tomorrow another.

3. From
the exuberant life of a true people, an abundant rich life is diffused in
the state and all its organs, instilling into them, with a vigor that is
always renewing itself, the consciousness of their own responsibility, the
true instinct for the common good.

The
elementary power of the masses, deftly managed and employed, the state
also can utilize; in the ambitious hands of one or several who have been
artificially brought together for selfish aims, the state itself, with the
support of the masses, reduced to the minimum status of a mere machine,
can impose its whims on the better part of the real people; the common
interest remains seriously, and for a long time, injured by this process,
and the injury is very often hard to heal. (*)

The
traditional family as the safeguard that keeps ‘the people’ from being
transformed into ‘the masses’ will be the topic of our next article.